


Whisper

by valderys



Category: The Hobbit - Tolkien
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Community: hobbit_smut, Icky, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-21
Updated: 2010-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ring regrets its mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder' Challenge in 2005. I fancied writing a canon aphrodisiac for this challenge at the time, and this seemed the only way to go :)

_I whispered to them. I whispered to them all in the dark of the mountain. But their dreams were small and mean. My song was not heard, not by the twisted ones in their halls, in their dreams of destruction, and of blood. They were not always so, but even then, before my master worked upon them, before they were created into fitting tools for his will, even then, their dreams were not of such as me. I tried to sing of blood, I tried to sing of the evil that they longed for, but they could not hear. And it was not for me to know such base desires. I was made of finer stuff, although I think I had almost forgotten that, here in these lightless depths._

It had been so long, you see. It had been so long since I had known another mind. My bearer was of such small account, his heart was as shrivelled as an old pea, and it had been long since he had felt desire of any kind, excepting that which my presence gave him. I had worn such grooves in him, such tracks of time, and wear. But it was of no importance. He had ceased to be even noticeable any more.

And then they came. The dwarves. I could sense them all, even through the weight of the mountain. Ah! Such delicious thoughts, such rich and noble minds. I knew them, you see. I could taste them. They were made for me – their dreams shone brightly with my colour, with my texture. I could sing to them. I could make them desire me. I could lure them here, I knew that I could…

***

Singing, singing through the night. I call to them, and I weave my spell. They sleep so deeply, they do, my prey, my dearest darlings. I make them sleep and their dreams are filled with heat, and light, and gold. I slide myself along their minds, and into their hearts. I make them want me, I make them feel such desire as will burn the very mountain to ash. They will come and take me away from here, they will come and take me to my master. And I burn with them, for I long for that above all things.

My bearer is muttering, as always, as ever. He can feel my call, my siren song, he can feel me as a heat and warmth about his own wretched heart. He's skulking in the depths, seeking unwary food, and yet he stops his petty mission for he too has heard my whisper. I did not call to him, I did not want him to feel my song, and yet he stops and he breathes so heavily, that I cannot help but be aware of him.

He takes me from his finger, here in the dark, and he plays with me, he twists me and turns me, he calls me his precious, and so often have I heard him call me so, that it is no more to me than the sighing of a breeze down a passageway of stone. But this is new, my desperation is new, is burning to him too, and I had not considered that, so little have I considered him at all. He strokes me, he kisses me and he pants his hot breath upon my surfaces. His hand strays to that part of him that fleshly creatures so like to worship, and there he tugs and pulls, he gasps and groans.

I am beautiful and I shine, and this sordid honour, perhaps, is no more than I should have expected, but so unwelcome to me now that I am angry. I am angry with my bearer for sullying the bright hot heat of my melody, that was not forged for him. So, in revenge, I redouble my efforts, I sing to him, I sing to the whole mountain, and I do it knowing it will hurt, knowing it will burn him and scar him. I revel in the knowledge that he will feel ecstasy and agony, that I will be revenged upon his meanness. For I hope that finally this song will rouse the goblins to lust as well, to lust that they can't slake, and so they will look for my creatures, my dearest dwarves, and they will look for them with their own form of lust in their hearts, for violence, for wanton destruction, with hunger for blood and meat. They will bring me my prey. And then my dwarves will take me, they will take me with their hot minds bright with dreams of gold, they will take me and I will be glad.

My bearer is panting now in great harsh sobs, his fingers working busily, and I am pushed to his mouth and kissed and slobbered on, his teeth nipping at my smoothness, my strength tested in his grip. It does not take long. This is as small and pathetic as the rest of him, and his breath whistles through his teeth, as he clutches and strokes and comes. It is disgusting. I am better than this, I deserve better than this. And here are my dwarves, my marvellously malleable dwarves, so close I can almost feel them, almost touch them, in my eagerness.

It has been so very long, and yet I slip from his fingers so easily. I slip from his grasp and fall to the floor. And as I lie there in the dark, I picture my deliverer; I imagine his seamed face, and his rich beard, and his shallow golden heart. I wait eagerly to embrace my destiny, to be found, and possessed, and to be taken to my true master once more. There are no regrets.

***

_For how was I to know? How was I to know that they travelled with a wizard? He shielded himself as his kind must always do for the safety of the world. And in shielding himself it seemed he shielded my dwarves too. They never felt my threaded golden song. They never felt the twist of base desire, their lust for treasure – for _me_ – was never kindled. They never even knew I was there._

Instead, I lay in the dark, and the mountain pressed upon me, and I felt angry and alone. Perhaps I would lie there for another Age, tarnishing in the dark, my fires slowly guttering and dying, until I was as thin a wraith as my master. It was not to be borne.

And then he came. The little fat one. He came scrabbling in the dark, with the stench of fear weighing so heavily upon him. His mind was superficial, and his dreams were poor, for he thought only of brass buttons and buttered crumpets, of pocket handkerchiefs and pies. He thought only of useless things. Not for him were the sweet temptations of power, or the lust and lure of gold. He was useless to me, but he was leaving the mountain. He was useless, but he took me back to the light.

Things will be different. My master is not stirring yet, but he will be soon; I can bide my time. And soon enough there will be a creature that I can tempt with fire and with pain, with lust for dominion, or mastery of others. I look forward to that - to tormenting his heart, to bending him to my will. I look forward to that, and this time there will be no mistakes. This time will be different.


End file.
